


Where we come alive

by sprinklednana



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Violence, a lot of idol appearances, mostly nct and exo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinklednana/pseuds/sprinklednana
Summary: “As a reminder to us that our past and present dictates the future of the youth, for the fourth Quarter Quell, two tributes from each district will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."From District 1, Jaemin was the government’s favorite, he could convince the people of anything if he said it the right way and the President tried to pretend to be indifferent but anyone who truly knows how the government works, know better. With him, Donghyuck could easily get a 12 if he wanted, but he didn’t want to try. If he had to willingly give anything to the Capitol one more time, it’d be his arrow in their mouthsJeno, District 7's pride, was unmistakably handsome. Mysteriously cold looks and wide shoulders and broad chest. He looked like an extension of his weapon. Bright, heavy, and sharp. Renjun, District 5's latest victor, looked like someone who still believed in the good in the universe and the strength in love and hope. But looks are always deceiving. And from District 2, the Capitol didn’t like things they couldn’t control. Especially dangerous little things like Yangyang Liu.Let the Hunger Games begin.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	Where we come alive

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be my fic for the 00 line fic fest (@00ficfest on twitter, they're lovely, please give them love and support<3), but my life was shit for a couple of months so I wasn't in the right mental and emotional state. I think I'm in a better place right now so I'm going to try and pull through with this fic. I just wanted to give credit to my prompter, who gave me this idea!!!! And to the admin of the 00 line fic fest who gave me the chance to continue this fic. Thank you for being so kind :( <3
> 
> I've been working on this for so long, I actually have a lot planned out already and I've written some of the other parts down. Each chapter will be in a different pov, for now, meet Renjun. 
> 
> I really hope you like this one! And I will be updating regularly
> 
> Kudos are appreciated and do tell me what you think about it in the comments below! <3

**negative four: renjun**

“Just follow the cards and smile. They’ll all be looking at you,”

“I’m here, Jun.” Yukhei had said, hand on his lower back and pushing him forward, voice low so the peacekeepers won’t be able to hear him.

But when the doors opened and the blinding light makes its way to his eyes, he walked through it alone.

The stage he walked into was small, but with him in the center by himself, it seemed so large. _Seemed like it was impossible to run away from._

The next thing that registers in his mind, is two platforms across from him. Each with screens showcasing the faces of the fallen tributes of District 12.

A girl with dark unruly hair and olive skin, couldn’t be older than 13. _Will never be older than 13,_ Renjun thinks. He remembers the girl; a frightened little thing.

He remembers how she giggled into her hand when a young boy from District 10 whispered something to her ear during training. He remembers how she looked down at her feet and spoke in the most quiet and gentle voice he has ever heard during the interviews.

He remembers how they, the second night of the game, lit up the night sky in the arena, how they showed her face right above her district number. The music as they show the fallen still ringing in his ear.

An anger so sudden and so great coils its way into his stomach. And he swallows all the words that threaten to crawl out of his mouth.

In the platform stood three girls and a man whose face was stone. One of the girls— obviously older than the fallen tribute, held the two, who were seemingly so much younger, tightly by their hands. Silent tears falling from her eyes.

The fallen tribute. _Annie_ , he remembers now. She and her sisters, they all had the same face. Pretty, if they weren’t fractured by grief. _Too soft, too gentle_.

Renjun wants to grovel at their feet and beg for forgiveness.

The platform just a few meters away from it stood one woman with familiar blonde hair, crying into her hand. Being held by a woman that could barely be called a woman. Just a few days above being a girl. _An older sister perhaps_.

Renjun couldn’t hear what she was saying but he sees her grasping at the girl’s neck as if begging her for something, sees her mouth move. Sees how it forms, “ _My boy. My only boy.”_

There’s a shame inside of him that is threatening to escape out of his very skin. Shame for winning, Shame for surviving. Shame for feeling sorry. Shame for regretting his own actions. _Shame for knowing he will do it all over again in a heartbeat if he had to._

He couldn’t even look at the face of the boy on the screen. He’s seen it enough times in his dreams.

Sees light hair. tall nose. brown eyes. crooked teeth. Sees him shyly smiling at the audience as Johnny interviewed him. Sees how he ran during the bloodbath. Sees him mouth “ _Please,”_ and _“I don’t wanna die_.”

Sees his own hand take the knives tucked at his hip anyway. Sees himself stab the boy with the crooked teeth. Once through the eye, once through his stomach, and thrice to the heart.

Sees his hair so matted with blood, no one could recognize his blonde hair anymore.

Sees the blood stains in his own hands that refused to go away even days and days after.

His second kill. It was even worse than the first.

Renjun closed his eyes once. He does not cry. Maybe the boy he used to be before his name was called on during the Reaping would have. But he doesn’t remember him anymore.

Sometimes he hears him in his sleep. Crying and begging to be saved.

But Renjun couldn’t save him. Renjun couldn’t save anyone.

And so he step closers to the microphone. He takes one look at the crowd and smiles widely. He lifts the cards that Yukhei pressed against his palms.

Loud and clear, he begins, “As the victor of the 99th Hunger Games, I am honored to be with you today,”

Renjun watches the screen with a kind of detachment he has grown to be familiar with.

“Ladies and gentlemen. This is the hundredth year of The Hunger Games.”

The screen shows President Kim. All white hair and dark robes and steely voice. A single white rose pinned to his chest.

“It has been written in the charter of the games, that every 25th year, there will be a Quarter Quell.”

White noise was playing at the back of his mind. The beat of his heart wasn’t fast, but it’s violent thumping threatens to break through his ribcage. “This is to keep fresh the memory of those who died and the uprising of the districts against the Capitol.”

Across the table, he feels Yukhei shift towards him. Renjun refuses to meet his eyes. “Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of special significance.”

“And now, on the 100th anniversary of the victory of the Capitol and the defeat of the rebellion. The celebration of the fourth Quarter Quell will be a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.”

Renjun struggles to breathe. _In through the nose. Out through the mouth._

“As a reminder to us that our past and present dictates the future of the youth, for the fourth Quarter Quell, two tributes from each district will be reaped from the existing pool of victors who are aged 20 and below.”

“Jun—” Yukhei tries to reach out for him, but he instantly cuts him off with a raised hand, “Stop,” he says, in a voice that was far too shakier than what he has intended.

“If the district only has one victor of that age, then they will be faced with an unavoidable disadvantage,” President Kim continues, but Renjun is already standing up, almost toppling the table in his anger.

He can hear Yukhei shouting after him but he doesn’t stop. He runs _out of the room out of the doors out of the house_. He runs till he reaches the woods _runs till his own calves swear at him and begs him to stop runs till the burning in his lungs threatens to rip his insides apart_.

He has been fighting for so long. _surviving for so long. dying for so long_.

He falls to his knees and catches himself with shaking hands. He loses track of time. Doesn’t remember what day it is, doesn’t recognize if it is night or of it is day. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

Renjun loses control over his body and finds himself face down in the dirt, forehead touching the ground. The world stops turning and time holds its breath.

He had nothing but himself and he won.

He thinks of the little district 8 boy, whose name even hurts to _think_ of; of how he laid with him on the ground on the ninth night; of how he whispered “ _You must win.”_

He thinks of Yukhei. Of broad shoulders and a wide chest and warm hands. Of a steady voice telling him that he had to go back. Of a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. Of gentleness he thought he would never know.

He had something now.

He will live. He is a survivor and he will keep on surviving.

But for now, it was just Renjun and the clothes on his back and the wind and the trees and the soil underneath his fingers.

For now, he does something he hasn’t done since the first ever night he spent in the Capitol.

For now, he lets the tears fall.

Renjun toured from the first district to the last, and everywhere there was pain and cruelty and hunger. Hundreds and thousands of people were dying.

Where letting your voice be heard would risk a beating. Where food was fought tooth and nail for. Where the odds will never be in your favor.

Yet _here._

There was an abundance of the brightest lights, the most dazzling wigs and clothes, and all kinds of food.

Yukhei was walking in front of him and the way he grins and talks to everyone they pass by sent a certain type of feeling down his throat that he has never felt before. Certainly not for Yukhei.

A few hours ago, the idea of going to the Presidential Palace to celebrate, to face all the people of the Capitol who wanted to catch even a glimpse of _the most recent victor_ , was only made bearable by the thought of Yukhei being there, sticking out like a sore thumb with him.

But the way he walks right now, the confidence sitting on his shoulders, and the easy way he slides his hands and arm through the people of the Capitol. Renjun wanted to take Yukhei’s hand and make a break for it, or slice a deep red line up Yukhei’s arm, all at once.

Before he noticed, the taller man has stopped abruptly after accepting a suspiciously purple wine from a pink-wigged man.

Hand pulling him closer and leaning press lips against his ear, Yukhei whispers, “In front of you. To your right. He’s been looking at you the moment you entered the Palace. Jeno Lee. District 7. Won the 95th Hunger Games at 14. Youngest to ever do so. One of the very few tributes outside District 1 and 2 that was trained before the reaping. Volunteer. No one can use a sword better than he can. I’m serious, Injun. _No one._ Pretty decent with an axe too. And his bare hands.”

Renjun sneaks a look at the said boy. He knows of Jeno Lee, of course. It was hard not to.

The pride of District 7 was unmistakably handsome. Mysteriously cold looks and wide shoulders and broad chest. A laughing woman wearing a big and bright yellow dress placed a pretty and heavy looking, but obviously fake sword in his right hand.

The corner of Jeno Lee’s lips tugs upwards.

He looked like an extension of the weapon. Bright, heavy, and sharp. He’s going to cut someone in half, even with that fake sword, Renjun thinks, and they will be unable to do anything but stare in awe.

Lost in his thoughts, he only feels Yukhei’s hand leaving his back and a soft, “He’s walking towards you,” before Renjun’s vision is filled with a tall handsome victor, white hair, and moles scattered on an angular face. Sword nowhere to be seen.

Jeno Lee stops just a few inches short of him and Renjun is stunned at the obvious difference of their heights. “Would it be too much to ask the star of the night for a dance?”

Renjun’s movement were robotic. Jeno couldn’t kill him, not in the Presidential Palace, not a night of celebration for _his_ victory, he reminds himself. He lets the district 7 boy drag him towards the center, lets the people of the Capitol pin their eyes on them.

They were a sight to behold. District 7’s pride and the most recent victor of district 5. Sharing a dance before they have to share an arena and kill each other.

In a moment of absolute insanity, Renjun wants to laugh.

The last time a tribute from another district laid a hand on Renjun, he poked an arrow right through their eye. Three times.

And now one of the most famous tributes—victors—has an arm wrapped around his waist, and a palm pressed against his own.

Renjun definitely wants to laugh.

Jeno Lee was silent and the other boy tries to observe as much as he can from him.

There were no signs of weaknesses, although Renjun has once heard about a permanent scar underneath the white tuxedo the district 7 victor was wearing.

No accessories besides a simple silver ring on his index finger. A small diamond at its center. Renjun stops himself from tilting his head in confusion. 7 wasn’t a luxurious district and such a simple design couldn’t possibly come from the Capitol.

A diamond like that, can only come from the wealthier districts. Jeno Lee has his friends—from District 2 or 1. Renjun didn’t know what to feel about that.

He pays no mind to the people of the Capitol, but Renjun sees the way his eyes seem to linger on the President, a few feet away from them, dancing with a boy in sheer clothing, the boy’s back facing them.

He had half a mind to think that Jeno was being wary of the President, but the look on his face was too familiar. The name of the look Jeno was giving was on the tip of his tongue and the taste of it makes Renjun want to march over to the President and demand to see the face of the boy he’s dancing with.

Jeno chances a look at him, swaying him to the music being played.

“You need something from me.” Renjun begins, and he hates how it doesn’t sound as sharp as he wants it to come out. “What is it?”

A smile cuts through the victor’s face, and Renjun gets a glimpse of how dangerous this boy could truly be. “On the contrary, I have an offer that _you_ might need.”

It hasn’t been a whole minute and Renjun already wanted to throw hands.

His stylists has just fitted him with a tight gray tunic that showed off his delicate figure, with attached silver capelets that reached the floor. Dark fitting pants hugged his legs.

A large silver head piece in the shape of a half circle was carefully placed atop his head.

Irritatingly itchy, his face and his neck was painted various shades of aqua, navy blue, red, and pink, making him look like a pretty hologram.

The first sight that greets Renjun in the waiting room of the Opening Ceremony is of a boy with beautifully tan and smooth skin that could only mean said boy might be a fighter but he has never worked a day in his life.

Crushed pink diamonds were scattered in pretty floral patterns on the boy’s left cheek and a few on his neck, contrasting with his sun-kissed skin.

Glittery lipstick of a dark color and silk robes that are sheer by his waist, hanging off his shoulders, and shimmering under the lights. His headpiece was fitted perfectly mid forehead, a halo-like crown encrusted with a diamond and vine-like rubies running across from it.

A simple metal ring was on his thumb, and he remembers Yukhei saying that it was the same token he brought with him in the 97th Hunger Games. The one he won with Jaemin Na.

With his auburn hair and unique complexion, Donghyuck Lee wasn’t bubbly and unbelievably pleasant. He wasn’t beautiful in the way a tribute from District 1 was expected to be.

He was beautiful in the same way the bow and arrow he was holding were. Swift and deadly.

And like he was summoned by Renjun’s thoughts, Jaemin Na decides to grace everyone with his presence.

Renjun recognized him immediately. Not because he knew his face in particular. But because of the way he entered with a smile that says he intends to be the most remarkable person in the room and the easiest confidence that says he knows _he is_ set upon his shoulders.

Crushed blue diamonds were scattered in beautiful patterns from his right eyelid going down to his cheek. Glittery lipstick a lighter shade than Donghyuck’s.

A diamond encrusted halo-like crown atop his head with one large sapphire gem at its center.

Matching silk robes that are sheer by his shoulders and neck in some places, shimmering under the lights.

Yukhei has spent a lot of time talking about him and Renjun swallows the feeling that came with the memory down his throat.

Jaemin was the government’s favorite, _but he’s become too powerful_ , Yukhei says. _too influential_.

He could convince the people of anything if he said it the right way and the President tried to pretend to be indifferent, but anyone who truly knows how the government works, know better.

Jaemin turns around to face him fully, like he somehow _knows_ that he’s being thought about. He smiles at Renjun briefly, but there was no warmth in it.

Renjun averts his eyes and lands on one of the district 2 boys wearing barely any make-up.

A golden metallic top without sleeves and a custom made Varaform chest piece was hugging his lithe frame. A brown leather roman underskirt ending just above his knees and gold painted boots that ran up to his ankles.

Sitting atop his head was a golden helmet where wings protruded from each side.

Yangyang Liu. Winner of the 98th Hunger Games at 18 years old. Renjun quietly took him in. _Sandy brown hair. Plain features but intense eyes. Has a half-healed scar above his eyebrow. A tight black leather band around his wrist._

There was something disconcerting about the District 2 boy.

Later on, he realizes, it was all in the eyes.

If the eyes truly were the windows of the soul, then Renjun would gladly bar those windows forever.

Whoever made him a killer clearly killed whatever’s inside him first.

“Try not to kill anyone.” Renjun hears from his right, eyes landing on a familiar face. “The games haven’t started yet.”

Eyelids painted a dark shade of green and thin vines running up from his wrist all the way up to the middle of his arm.

With a metal cuff around his right bicep—the same color as his last opponent’s axe—Jeno looks absolutely and uncontainably dangerous.

He was dressed with dark brown leather pants that hugged his legs and ended where combat boots began. On his white hair sat a contrasting and intricate crown made up of metal and leaves.

Faint tattoos on his bare upper half and a knife scar running from the bottom of his rib down to the edge of his pants were showcased with pride.

“If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll kill _me_ before it begins.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter is Jaemin’s.
> 
> You can also ask me questions in my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sprinklednana) or [twt](https://twitter.com/sprinklednana?lang=en) if you want!


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